Free Down a Dark Hall by Lois Duncan Page B

not,” Kit said. “I’m only reading some letters.”
    “Then I want to show you something.” Ruth stepped inside and closed the door carefully behind her. “It’s this.”
    She held out a sheet of paper. At a glance Kit could see that it was a crude sketch of a face, a wavering, childish drawing
     of the type that one might expect to see in a display of elementary school art.
    “What is it?” she asked. “Did it come in the mail? Your little brother or sister—”
    “No,” Ruth said. “It’s a portrait of me. Lynda did it. It’s the picture she drew for that parlor game she was talking about.”
    “Lynda drew that?” Kit exclaimed, reaching for the paper and laying it flat on the bed in front of her. Ruth came over to
     stand beside her and together they studied the drawing. A round, unformed face. A triangle nose. A mouth that resembled a
     Halloween pumpkin. A mop of black hair.
    “She got the hair right,” Ruth said. “It’s black. Frankly, I don’t see any other resemblance. I know I’m no beauty queen,
     but even I have two eyes that look in the same direction. And she forgot to put on the ears.”
    “I don’t understand,” Kit said. “We know that Lynda can draw. That portrait she did of me was awesome.”
    “It was a freak occurrence,” Ruth said flatly. “Lynda can’t draw, Lynda doesn’t have any talent in anything. She’s pretty
     and sweet, but the day they distributed brains, Lynda was out to lunch.”
    Somehow, from Ruth, the statement did not sound brutal, simply factual.
    “Sit down,” Kit said slowly. “I think you and I need to talk.”
    Ruth nodded. She seated herself on the edge of the bed. In her lap, her square, strong hands gripped each other tightly.
    “Something’s going on here,” she said in a low voice. “I know it, but I don’t know what it is. Do you feel it too?”
    “Yes,” Kit said, “and so does Sandy.”
    “Lynda doesn’t. Lynda doesn’t notice things. She’s like a little kid in so many ways.”
    “Maybe you’d better tell me about her,” Kit said. “And about yourself. The two of you seem to be good friends, but you’re
     so different. There’s nothing wrong with your I.Q.”
    “It’s a hundred and fifty,” Ruth said with pride. “I was ahead of myself from the beginning. I skipped two grades in elementary
     school, and by the time I reached middle school I was already so far ahead on my own that the things in the textbooks were
     boring to me. And the kids didn’t like me. Who wants a fat little nine-year-old in a class of twelve-year-olds?
    “My parents are both PhDs. They think education is very important, so they decided to send me to a special, ungraded school
     in Los Angeles. That’s where I first met Lynda.”
    “What was she doing there,” Kit asked, “if the school was for brilliant students?”
    “Well, it wasn’t exactly. At least, that’s what I discovered after I got there. It was just ‘elite.’ I don’t know if you realize
     it or not, but Lynda’s mother is Margaret Storm.”
    “Margaret Storm, the actress?” Kit said in surprise. “I’ve seen her on the classic movie channels.”
    “She was pretty popular in her day,” Ruth said. “Of course, a glamorous actress doesn’t stay on top forever. Lynda says she’s
     still making movies, but the parts aren’t that good anymore, and she met some Italian actor in one of them and there was some
     sort of scandal—well, anyway, she’s living in Italy now. That’s why Lynda was away at school. She was really lost there. She’d
     try and try, but she just couldn’t keep up academically. And I couldn’t keep up socially. We sort of found each other, and
     after that it wasn’t so bad for either of us.”
    “Why did you come to Blackwood?” Kit asked her.
    “That was my parents’ doing. They didn’t think the school in L.A. was challenging enough, and they were right. When they read
     the brochure about Blackwood and saw the part about the